


Precious

by TheGiantSquid



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Erotica, Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, The Quidditch Pitch: Self Pleasure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-08-03
Updated: 2006-08-03
Packaged: 2018-10-26 07:38:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10782432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGiantSquid/pseuds/TheGiantSquid
Summary: He'd been doing it for years...Written for Tarie'sMagical Item Ficlet Extravaganza.





	Precious

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

  
Author's notes: This story is very very wrong. It involves the bond between a wizard and his broom. And that's all I'm gonna say about that. :D  


* * *

He'd been doing it for years.  
  
It started when Cormac was fourteen. One night after watching the Gryffindor Quidditch team practice late into the night, he had snuck into the broom shed and hidden in a corner as he watched the players mount their brooms against the wall. After the entire team had left, he had emerged from the corner and walked over to the brooms.   
  
He’d always wanted to be on the Quidditch team, but no...They didn’t have any _spots_ , there wasn’t any _room_ , he wasn’t _good enough._ Gritting his teeth, Cormac reached out and caressed the first broom in his line of sight: a Shooting Star. A school broom. Licking his lips, Cormac unhooked the broom and clutched it tightly against his body. Inhaling deeply, Cormac felt a shudder course through his body as the musky scent of wood and sweat invaded his senses.  
  
And that’s when it happened.  
  
He was a healthy fourteen-year-old, after all. These things were perfectly natural. Cormac knew that he needed to return to the school as soon as possible, but first he had to do something about his erection. And that was when the Ritual began...  
  
Up until his final year at Hogwarts, Cormac would go down to the broom shed at least once a week, select a different model every time, and then enjoy a little “personal time” between himself and the brooms. The way he’d calculated it, he could get through all the brooms at least twice by the time he left school.   
  
After a while, though, even just wanking off on the brooms got to be a little boring, and that was when Cormac decided to start _experimenting_. Needless to say, the Comets were by far the most pleasing of broom models. The handles were very wide and perfect for penetration.

But there was one broom that Cormac had never even so much as laid a hand on. _The_ broom. The one broom to rule them all.  
  
The Firebolt. Harry Potter’s precious broom.  
  
A moan tumbled from Cormac’s lips as he thought about the smooth texture of the Firebolt, the way it turned so gracefully in the sky, the way its bristles were always trimmed and neat. With a cry, Cormac came all over Weasley’s Cleansweep 7. Breathing heavily, he tucked himself back into his trousers and walked quickly from the shed. (He never cleaned up afterwards.)  
  
As Cormac walked back up towards the castle, constantly on the look-out for Filch or Snape prowling in the corridors, he began to think more and more about the Firebolt. Merlin, what he wouldn’t do to just _touch_ it. Potter didn’t keep the broom in the shed, though, and Cormac did not blame him one bit. A Firebolt needed to be coddled and worshiped, revered and honored, not stuck in some smelly old shed that could catch fire at any moment.   
  
Fuck, he was hard again. Clenching and unclenching his fists, Cormac all but ran up to Gryffindor Tower. He gasped out the password to the Fat Lady and burst into the empty common room before stumbling up the stairs to the seventh-years’ dormitory. On the sixth floor, however, he stopped dead in his tracks.  
  
It was Potter’s room.  
  
He knew Potter kept the Firebolt somewhere safe inside, but where, Cormac hadn't a clue. Most likely in his trunk or under his bed. He glanced quickly at his watch; it was just after 2 a.m. His cock gave another pulse at the thought of finally– _finally_ –being able to touch Potter’s broom, and with his mind made up, Cormac pushed open the heavy door and crept quietly into the pitch-black room.   
  
He made not a sound as he slowly worked his way across the room. When his eyes gradually adjusted to the darkness, Cormac could see that some light was peeking through the windows and he was able to make out a trunk sitting at the foot of a bed with the initials “H.P.” on it.   
  
Grinning madly, he practically sprinted towards the bed and landed on his knees with a soft thud when he reached the trunk. Cormac wasn’t surprised that there wasn’t a locking charm or some other anti-theft device on Potter’s trunk–he was Gryffindor through and though, and for some unknown reason he seemed to actually trust his dorm mates. _The fool_ , Cormac thought, shaking his head sadly. Didn’t he know that any one of his supposed friends could steal the Firebolt at any moment? With a snort of disgust, Cormac began to rifle through the endless amounts of mismatched socks, soft-core porn, and spare bits of parchment in the trunk, but he found no broom. But Cormac wasn’t thwarted by any means. It just meant that the Firebolt was elsewhere in the room. He searched under the bed, but after finding only mothballs and more porn– _honestly, did the boy do nothing but wank?_ –Cormac began to scan the walls. And that’s when he saw it.  
  
Bathed in the moonlight, Potter’s Firebolt stood propped in a corner. Cormac exhaled through his nose and rose shakily from the floor. _This_ was what he came here for; _this_ was what he’d been dreaming of for the past few years. He couldn’t prevent a quiet moan from escaping his throat when he finally touched the smooth wood of the broom, but luckily none of the other boys in the room so much as stirred.  
  
Cormac picked up the Firebolt and weighed it in his hands before putting the handle underneath his nose and inhaling deeply. His eyes rolled in the back of his head. _Oh God, it's too much, too much, bloody hell..._ Throwing a cautionary glance over his shoulder, Cormac ripped open his trousers, pulled out his cock, and began to wank while he continued to caress the broom and fondle its bristles. It didn’t take long for him to come violently all over the broom handle and a little on the floor. Cormac quickly tucked himself back in his trousers, propped the broom back up in the corner, and stumbled from the room on shaky legs. Once he was in his own dorm, Cormac collapsed in his bed and proceeded to have the best night’s sleep he’d had in years.  
  
The next morning, Harry Potter woke up form a strange dream he’d been having. The git McLaggen had been dancing with a struggling Hermione in an elaborate ballroom while Ron had jumped up and down in the background screaming, “Kill him, kill him!” He, Harry, on the other hand had been engaging in lewd acts with his Firebolt, acts he was quite sure were illegal throughout most of the world. Why he was having sexual dreams about brooms was beyond him, though when Harry went flying later on that day, he wondered why his hands kept sticking to the handle...   
  
  
The End


End file.
